Repost from here (http://suedoenim.blogspot.com/2008/04/friday-confession_18.html)

I was about 5 or 6 when I saw Quincy MD and decided I had to be a coroner.

I told my parents and my father opened his briefcase. He whipped out pictures from a coroner's report. They were black and white, glossy 8 x 10's. There was a nude man with rods through his skull showing the angles of penetration.

It. Was. Fabulous.

But I lived in a lily white suburb.

So it wasn't until I was 9 or so that I realized you don't turn black when you die.

Yes. I thought all African Americans were just white people dying slowly.